


Thick Skin, Loud Voice

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's just volunteered to become a Sith Hunter.</p><p>She's got to be <i>crazy.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Thick Skin, Loud Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my self-imposed celebration for Re-Entry's ten year anniversary.

 

Siri Tachi is thirteen Standard, and prides herself on keeping up with Padawans that are several years older than she is.  She is short and blonde and female, and is already far too aware of how each of those things can be seen as a weakness by Galactic society.  Maybe she overcompensates a little, but so far the only negative Siri has noticed is in her academic courseload.  When the other female Padawans her age are talking about lower-level katas and standard history requirements and (sometimes) boys, she is studying with Kenobi, Muln, Reeft, Abella, and Eerin.

The Fab Five don’t see her as a younger hang-about, and never treat her like the baby of the group.  (If there is one, it’s Reeft.)  Eerin teaches her coding and swimming; Abella teaches her better, more efficient ways to heal her training-related bumps and bruises; Muln teaches her to pilot a swoop like a badass and how to brew caff; Reeft teaches her Duros and how to eat in the field when your rations are toast.

Then there’s Kenobi.

They get along like paint on walls, when they’re not spitting at each other.  Mostly that’s her fault, but he is just _so cursed fun_ to wind up! 

It takes her too long to realize that she’s pushing on buttons that actually hurt, old wounds left by Chun and that idiot Master Elka, but by then the habits are set, and Obi-Wan would think it weird if she suddenly started being nice all the time.

Siri is willing to admit that she’s not that great at being nice.  Master Adi says it comes with being pubescent and female, and kindness will develop in its own time.  Muln calls bullshit and says that Siri’s just a bitch.  He’s grinning when he says it, so she doesn’t punch him too hard, and it makes Kenobi laugh.

All right, shut up; yes, she has a bit of a crush on Kenobi.  She is not _blind_ ; that boy has an ass like a dream and Siri would have to be dead not to notice.  She crushes a bit on each of her friends, but she watches Kenobi the most—Abella and Eerin aren’t compatible species, anyway, and she suspects both Muln and Reeft are completely bent for guys.

Kenobi meeps helplessly whenever Siri flirts with him.  Maybe if she was subtle he wouldn’t act like a cornered mynock, but she doesn’t _do_ subtle.  Subtle is for wusses. 

Despite all that, he teaches her, too.  Thanks to Kenobi, she can spin a lightsaber until it’s nothing but a solid whirl of light.  Whenever Jinn teaches him something new, Kenobi finds Siri and then shows it to her.  He might have been teaching it just as a way of getting better himself, but Siri is not going to complain about an arrangement that has seen her at top standing in her age group for two years running.  She’s doing pretty good in the older groups, too, and when it’s time for aerials in the lower weight classes, Tachi/Kenobi is the team to beat.

The Jinn/Kenobi team is still unbeatable in the Master/Padawan team set, but Siri doesn’t mind.  She and Master Adi will kick their asses at it, soon enough.

Then eight months pass, with no one seeing hide or hair of the Jinn/Kenobi pair, and it drives Siri nuts.  She wants her next sparring lesson; she’s going through a chain of grudge matches with an older Padawan, and it would be nice to pull off a clean win.  Adi counsels her to patience, and says that long missions happen. 

“Then when do _we_ get one?” Siri asks, miffed.  She hasn’t been on anything long-term with Adi yet.  With one Jinn/Kenobi-related exception, their missions have been short and succinct, and not much fun at all.

Adi smiles at her.  “When you’re ready, Padawan.”

Dammit.  What makes Kenobi better than her, anyway?  He’s been doing long mission sets almost from the beginning, and in the meantime Siri has spent the first three years of her apprenticeship climbing the farking Temple _walls_. 

Her Master thinks the Zan Arbor incident should have cured her of being mission-itchy. 

Yeah.  Didn’t happen.

In deference to their long stay away from the Temple, Siri waits a full twelve hours before she hunts Kenobi down.  She finds him in the commissary, sleeping at one of the tables, a half-empty breakfast tray forgotten on the tabletop.

She almost doesn’t wake him, but Siri figures better her than one of the Masters.  “Budge up, Kenobi,” she says, plopping herself down at his side.

She winds up on her back on the floor, staring at Kenobi, who is standing in an open-handed defense position that they were just beginning to study before his absence.  “Shit, Siri,” he says, lowering his hands.  “Don’t do that!”

“Noted, Kenobi!” she chirps back, wide-eyed.  “Not sittin’ next to you anymore, no sir.”

He sighs, wipes his eyes with both hands, and grins at her.  When he gives her a hand up off the floor, she allows it, but makes a big show of dusting dirt off of her leggings and inspecting the lines of her tunics.  “I guess I don’t have to ask how _that_ mission went,” Siri says.

Obi-Wan smiles.  “It ended well, but we’ve been living in ditches and hiding in barns for about six months.”

“Sounds like fun!”

He makes a face.  “The first time you’re so itchy from a lack of bathing that you can’t sleep, then you get to tell me it’s fun.”

Fair enough, Siri thinks, trying not to squirm in her seat.  _Bleargh._   “Is Master Jinn as twitchy as you are, Kenobi?”

He grins again.  “Master Micah has a black eye.”

Siri snickers and helps herself to the rest of his food.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Adi is already home for the day when Siri gets back from class.  Frustrating; Kenobi is in-Temple but not in class, Muln, Reeft, and Eerin are all out, and Abella is sleeping off a conference.  Lectures aren’t as much fun without friends.

Adi, Siri sees, is drinking.  Alcohol.  This is so staggering that Siri stops in the middle of their common room to stare.  “Master?”

Adi looks up and smiles at her, and even to Siri she looks a bit bleary.  “Hello, Padawan.  Have a nice day?”

“Uh,” Siri says in response.  “Sure, it was great,” she says, shaking off her surprise.  “I take it you had a day like a speeder wreck.”  Adi _never_ drinks.  It’s like a law, broken only for Knightings and bondings.

“Actually, Padawan,” Adi’s smile widens.  “I had a wonderful day.  A most unexpected day, but wonderful, nonetheless.”

“Awesome,” Siri says, sitting down onto the couch across from her Master.  “Spill!”

“We Knighted Obi-Wan today.”

Siri blinks a few times.  “You did what?” she asks in a weak croak.  Knighting?  _Kenobi?_   Were they kidding?  The kid was great, no doubts about that, but they were all at least four years away from a Knighting ceremony.  “Are you pulling my leg?” 

Adi shakes her head.   “No, I’m not.”  She takes another sip of alcohol, still smiling.  Siri catches sight of the pale peach liquid and feels her eyes widen.  Master Adi brought out the good stuff, her special Knighting booze! 

“Master, I was with Kenobi two months ago, when he and Master Qui-Gon got back from that thing on Kalevala.  He’s got a fancy lightsaber swing, but he’s not a Knight!” Siri insists.

Adi tilts her head, regarding Siri; there is a quiet presence in her eyes when she speaks.  “Do you doubt the Council’s wisdom, young Padawan?”

“Yes,” Siri says.  She is not afraid to say what needs to be said.

Her Master laughs.  “I am not surprised.  A lot of Jedi will, at first.  Obi-Wan is not our youngest humanoid ever to be Knighted, but—”

“Then _why?_ ” Siri wants to know.  “Unless you’re setting an example or trying to get him killed, he doesn’t have the skill—”

“Siri.”  Adi’s voice is firm.  “The Council would never promote someone who is not ready to be a Knight.”  She sets down her glass and looks away; when Adi turns her gaze back to Siri, there is awe shining in her eyes, and it is a bit frightening to behold.

“Today I witnessed something I have never experienced, Padawan.  And while I’m still fairly young, I have seen a lot of strange things in my life.  Trust me, Siri.  When you see Obi-Wan, you’ll understand.”

Siri frowns but does not sulk.  She’ll make up her own damn mind.

 

*          *          *          *

 

She isn’t going to get the chance until after the Agnata clusterfuck is done with.  (Muln is great for new words.)  There is a tense moment when half the Council seems to be pretty certain that Kenobi and Jinn are dead.  Siri is present for one of these meetings, and she can tell that Master Windu, Master Yoda, Master Adi, and Master Micah think they’re fine, just waylaid.  Typical Jinn/Kenobi stuff; they do this at least once a year.

She isn’t privy to the results, but Master Micah comes to talk to Adi in their quarters, so Siri is there when Micah says, “Maybe we should have just sent them to Nal Hutta.  There would be less fallout,” and Adi laughs so hard she cries.

Siri _really_ wants to read that mission briefing, but not even Eerin can crack that file.  The news feeds are no help; all they can find out is that there’s been some kind of government turn-over on Agnata and the whole thing is up in the air.

Typical Jinn/Kenobi stuff.

This means he’ll be in the Temple soon, and she can satisfy her curiosity.  He’s still paired with his Master, after all.  That means that this Knighting is some weird formality.  Kenobi still needs Jinn.

She mentions as much to Adi, but her Master frowns at her.  “Vice versa, really,” Adi says, but does not explain, and it’s so damn cryptic that Siri wants to scream.  Instead, she goes down to the salle and uses her fists and feet to turn an entire line of junior and senior Padawans into mat-mush.

“You’ve got impulse problems, Tachi,” one of the seniors, Vos, says.

Siri rolls her eyes.  “Aren’t you in-Temple right now because Master Tholme is grounding your ass?”

Vos grins.  “Yeah.  Takes one to know one, Tachi.  Go chill out on a meditation mat before you break one of us.”

She goes and meditates because it’s a good idea, not because Vos says so.

 

*          *          *          *

 

By the gods.  How can they not see it?  It’s obvious what’s happened.

Kenobi has totally been replaced by a pod person.  That isn’t Kenobi at all.  Siri _knows_ Kenobi, and the person looking back at her right now is a stranger.

Just when she has that thought, Kenobi tilts his head and smiles at her.  “You see it right away, don’t you?” he says, but Siri doesn’t think he’s asking her a real question.  She’s too busy thinking, _Pod Person_ , anyway.

“Weak conspiracy theory,” Kenobi says, a faint smile on his face that she’s almost certain is a well-masked smirk.  “Come up with something better.”

Siri frowns.  “Stop reading my mind.”

It’s _definitely_ a smirk.  “Stop yelling your opinions so loud.  What’s a pod person, anyway?”

“It’s from some movie on the ‘Net,” she explains, because why not?  “This alien plant uses spores to make physical copies of people, but those people are automatons who only exist to provide food for the plant.  Living food.”  A few Jedi give her strange looks as they walk by, and she glares until they pass on.  Who cares if they’re talking crappy cinema in the Library, anyway?

In fact, their location is just one more bit of evidence for Pod Person.  She would have found _her_ Kenobi in the Star Map room, or near the Fountains, or in the salle.  This Kenobi walks the Library stacks like he could navigate them blindfolded.

“Oh!” Kenobi says, and his eyes light up.  “I remember that film.  I saw it—”  He halts, and frowns.  “I’ve seen it.  Why am I a Pod Person, Tachi?”

“Because you can’t be him.  You’re too old to be him,” she hisses.

There is no hint of a smile on his face now.  “Discounting your pod person theory,” he says, in a light, musing sort of voice that sounds creepy coming from such a young mouth, “the simplest answer is usually the one that is true.”

Siri shakes her head.  “You _can’t_ be,” she says again, hearing the plaintive note in her own voice.  She doesn’t want it to be true, and not because he’s making the rest of them look bad, suddenly developing Jedi-hood way ahead of schedule.  It’s because his eyes look like a thousand kliks of heartbreak, and if that’s what it takes to become a Knight, Siri wants no damn part of it.

She must still be blithering at full volume; he smiles at her, but this time there is no smirk to it.  “Take a walk with me, Tachi,” he says in that new, soft voice of his.  “I’ll tell you a story.”

They walk, and he does.  The story she hears is impossible.

“Muln’s not cracking jokes, so the others must not know,” Siri guesses, when he’s explained the Knighting thing.  (He is a Jedi Master or she will eat her cloak.)

He shakes his head.  “The Council.  Qui-Gon.  Young Anakin and his mother, and you.  I’m thinking about telling my father, but I’m really not sure about that, yet.”  Kenobi smiles, but it’s not a happy expression.  Siri thinks he will, anyway, and is just worried about the reception he’ll get.  Not that Siri can blame him.

“So, why not tell the rest of the Fabulous Five?” Siri asks. 

“Which is easier to believe:  That I am a too-young Knight, or that I am a man of fifty-eight?”

“You’re fifty-eight?”  When he nods, she laughs.  “Hah!  You’re _old!_ ”

“Fuck you, too,” Kenobi retorts, but he’s smiling.

“Okay, so you’re old and Knighted,” Siri says, fighting the urge to giggle outright at the look on his face.  “You didn’t have to tell me.  You could have gone on letting me call you Pod Person.”

“I told you because you looked at me, and you saw _all_ of me,” Kenobi counters.  “Do you know how rare that is?”

“I like it when you tell me I’m awesome, Kenobi,” Siri says, but she’s starting to suspect that she gets why.  If he’s fifty-eight inside that scrawny frame (and she doesn’t doubt it for a minute) then his entire life is currently made of _poodoo_.  Siri is fourteen, looks eighteen, and feels twenty, and that’s hard enough.

“Exactly,” Kenobi says softly.

“Do you do that to everyone?” Siri asks.  She isn’t cross about it, but it’s weird.

Kenobi smiles.  “Not everyone.  You just know how to make yourself heard.”

“Two compliments in one sitting!” Siri puts a hand to her breast.  “Careful, Kenobi.  I’ll start to think you’re going after me like you did that Kryze girl.”

He gives her a sidelong look.  “Are you still training for an early Knighting, Tachi?”

“Duh,” Siri says, offended.  “That’s why I’m working my butt off to out-advance _you._ ”  _Or I was,_ she amends.  There is no catching up to Kenobi, now, but Muln and Eerin and the rest are still in the running.

“Then we’ll start with Mandalore.  Educate yourself with its laws.  Concordia too, come to think of it.”

Siri narrows her eyes.  “Look, just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean you can—”

Kenobi puts one finger over her lips, smiling.  “Force, I’d forgotten how techy you used to be.  Are you familiar with misdirection, Tachi?”

“Yeph,” she says, because Kenobi still hasn’t moved his finger.

“I’m telling you to do that in order to save myself a long and lengthy explanation about what really happened on Kalevala.  And _, if_ you figure it out, I’ll tell Adi that you’re ready to be pushed harder,” Kenobi explains, freeing her lips once more.

Siri is too excited by the prospect of more training to consider the fact that Kenobi might now have sway with her Master.  “She can do that?”

Kenobi nods.  “She can.  But that’s up to you.”

“Then you bet your cute ass I will.”  Siri gets up from their shared bench to go back to the Library, the better to mooch data disks off of Master Yaddle.  Then she pauses, half-turning to give Kenobi a curious look.  “Is this hard?  For you, I mean.”

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand her.  “Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he says.  There is a smile on his face, but his eyes are filled with such grieved awareness that it gives her chills.

 

*          *          *          *

 

She studies Mandalorian law, much to the consternation of her younger friends.  It’s easy for a while—Master Yaddle makes Siri study the laws from distant past to present, and Mandalores didn’t really believe much in rules for a long damn time.  Then the Reformation hits, and the legalese starts to get thick. 

The big one that stands out is the odd rule against homosexuality.  Siri has to haul her bio disks back out to look up the word, because it’s not in common use, and she isn’t even sure what it means.

“Same-sex relationships?”  Siri blinks at the text when it highlights the definition.  “That’s _stupid._ Why did they outlaw a part of their own biology?”

Siri gets sidetracked in short order.  Finding out why Mandalore banned same-sex relationships is far more fascinating, and easier on the brain, than reading law until her eyes burn.  The explanation leads Siri into reading about the old Mando’ade ways, about shield-brothers and shield-sisters.  She winds up transcribing notes (she has a history dissertation coming up and this just became the subject matter) on the upper class calling for permanent ways to end the Mando’ade, and how banning same-sex relationships became a cornerstone for peace.

Siri is pretty certain that the Reformation-folk are made up of stupid people.  She only holds out respect for the Duchess when she reads about how Kryze was against the harsher laws like the homosexuality ones, but caved for concessions that allowed Mando’ade prisoners of war to be released.

When she gets it, Siri ditches her data disks and readers and runs through the Temple, so excited she can’t stop grinning.  When Obi-Wan answers the door to his quarters, she bursts out with, “OhgodsDuchessKryzeisaLESBIAN!”

She didn’t bother to check if he was alone.  It’s just as well; she is treated to the sight of Master Qui-Gon practically howling with laughter from her announcement.

“Go ahead, shout it louder,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes dancing.  “They didn’t hear you in the other towers.”

“But that is it, isn’t it?  You’re her misdirection thing?” Siri asks, practically bouncing up and down.  “She can’t have a relationship that’s public, so as long as her people believe she’s pining over you—”

“No one digs too deeply into her private affairs, yes,” Obi-Wan confirms.  Even Master Qui-Gon looks pleased with Siri, now that he’s done laughing.  “That didn’t take long at all.”

“Because I’m _brilliant,_ Kenobi,” Siri retorts, but he already knows that.

 

*          *          *          *

 

She does get what she wanted.  Suddenly, her time off-planet doubles. 

Siri understands that she won’t be going out with her Master every time, but it’s still disappointing to realize that she is only traveling with Adi about one mission in four.  She appreciates those missions all the more, especially once Siri comes to understand just how many strings Adi Gallia has to pull to get off Coruscant even that much.

Then she turns sixteen, and she’s given her first solo mission.  Siri wants to bounce in place when she stands before the Council, hearing her instructions, but she is a Good Padawan, and not even her eyes betray her excitement.

“Better you than me,” Adi laments the day that Siri is due to ship out for Corellia.

“Can’t be that bad,” Siri comments, giving her pack another inspection to make sure she hasn’t forgotten anything.

“You haven’t yet met my parents,” her Master replies.

The first Gallia she meets when she puts her boots down on Corellian dirt is her Master’s sister, Edari Gallia.  Force, Adi could have _warned her_.

The younger Gallia has Adi’s skin tone, but her eyes are a brilliant emerald green, and lustrous dark brown hair hangs down to her waist.  The cost of her clothes alone would be Siri’s Temple stipend for three years, and they cling to Edari’s body like a second skin, highlighting a form that is both curvaceous and fit.

Siri feels like an urchin next to her.  She’s not sure what this mission is supposed to teach her, but if it’s humility, Siri now has that in spades.

Edari doesn’t seem to take notice of Siri’s faded tunics and broken-in boots.  “Come on, Padawan Tachi,” she says.  Siri sees Adi’s grin on Edari’s face, warm and familiar.  Suddenly, she feels better.  “Let’s go show you off to my parents and get that over with.”

Edari’s beauty made her feel self-conscious; the elder Gallias make Siri feel like a bacterium under a microscope.  They’re diplomats, so they’re not blatant about it or anything, but Siri knows they think Adi could have chosen better for her second Padawan. 

She is a glum presence at dinner that night.  Edari must notice Siri’s mood, because she gets the two of them excused from the meal the moment it is polite to do so.

“I didn’t think Jedi minded what us mere mortals thought of them,” Edari teases, once they are both ensconced in a private sitting room.

“I _don’t_ ,” Siri retorts heatedly, and then sniffs back tears.  “I _usually_ don’t,” she amends, wiping her face on her sleeve.

Edari pulls out a silk handkerchief and gently dabs Siri’s face with it.  “You don’t see family very often, I take it.”

She shakes her head no.  “You’re my Master’s family, not mine.”

Edari smiles.  “But your Master is your family, yes?  Then we are also, by association.  Believe me, I understand.”

“I don’t,” Siri says, distracted from her strange, untimely sniffles.  “Tell me.”

“You came here expecting to find allies, and instead you have found assholes,” Edari says.

She laughs so hard her eyes run again, but this time Edari is giggling, too, and that makes it easier to bear.  “I’m really sorry.  Here I am, supposed to be your security detail, and you’re busy making _me_ feel better!”

Edari waves her off.  “Don’t worry about it.  My parents are excellent diplomats, but they’re not very nice people.”

Siri nods in understanding and relief.  They start talking about Adi, and she gets to hear scandalous stories about her Master.  That leads into a discussion about Temple life and training, and tales about Siri and her friends.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Edari says, when they are two cups of hot tea and three shot glasses of sweet brandy into the evening.  “You’re short and extremely cute, so I can see how the Jedi believe you are the perfect candidate to join my retinue until this ridiculous threat is dealt with.  But you’re _short_ and _cute_.  Where are the bodyguarding skills?”

Siri grins.  “Give me someone to beat up, and I’ll show you,” she says, and takes another sip of brandy to hide the fact that her cheeks are burning.  It’s best not to dwell on the other things Edari says.  Edari is ten years her senior, and Adi will kill them both if Siri does anything untoward.

She gets the chance to show off her real talents three days later.  A representative of the faction that threatened the Gallia family decides to show up, uninvited.  That’s bad enough, but he makes his appearance by breaking into Edari’s bedroom, and that is not remotely okay.

Siri is standing over his unconscious form thirty seconds later, strung out on adrenaline, fists still in the air and alert for other threats.  She hears Edari gasp and turns to find the Corellian woman sitting up in bed and staring at her, wide-eyed.

“You all right?” Siri asks, lowering her hands as she realizes that, for now, the threat has been dealt with.  She’s thinking of tying up this idiot and dumping him in the river.  Serve him right.

Edari nods.  “Yes.  That was—that was so _hot_.”

She feels her cheeks heat.  Again.  She’s blushed more on this mission than she has her entire life.  “I’m efficient,” she mumbles. 

Great.  Unexpected crying, and now she’s shy, too? 

They have two more days of peace, and then a second attempt is made—this time on the entire family.  The elder Gallias elude assassination with the help of the local constabulary, but Siri and Edari are less fortunate.  

Edari is clinging to Siri’s waist as she pilots a swoop through downtown Coronet City, thanking Garen with every breath she has.   The idiot faction is shooting at them without a hint of concern for collateral damage.  It means extra work, keeping the blaster shots away from bystanders while also avoiding a fiery, flaming death.

Siri probably shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but by the Force, she _is._   She doubles back and drops Edari on a rooftop with instructions to hide, and then proceeds to use her lightsaber, the swoop, and a few conveniently placed walkways to make short work of some overgrown morons.

She returns to the rooftop and parks the swoop.  Edari is intelligent enough to wait for Siri to say that it’s safe before she comes rushing out.  “You are brilliant!” Edari exclaims, and then kisses Siri full on the lips.

It is _not_ a chaste kiss.

It’s the hottest kiss Siri’s ever had, and she is not shy about kissing people who catch her interest.  “Edari?”

Edari smiles, her green eyes blazing, still lit with the excitement of the chase.  “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I’m totally not,” Siri says, making sure that Edari knows that there is no problem here, thank you.

Edari sighs, still smiling at her.  “You’re not legal on Coruscant yet, are you?”

Siri shakes her head.  “Not for anyone over eighteen Standard.  What about Corellia?”

“Corellia doesn’t give a damn as long as everyone’s over sixteen and it’s consensual,” Edari replies, but she is serious now.  “I’m not—I’m not offering because you saved my life.”

“No, it’s because you think I’m hot when I’m kicking ass,” Siri retorts, and finally gets the pleasure of seeing Edari blush.  About time it was someone else for a change.  “I want to.”

“If you’re still certain of this later, come to my bedroom tonight,” Edari says, taking Siri’s hand in a gentle grip.  “If you decide not to, we will still be friends.  I promise you that.”

The constabulary show up, _late,_ and start collecting stories and taking notes.  Siri is getting practiced at signing off on the forms required because she has created dead bodies for the local mortuary to deal with.

It’s after midnight by the time she gets back to the Gallia residence.  The elder Gallias have thawed in their attitude towards Siri, but she still doesn’t much care for them.  It’s easy to understand why Master Adi stays the hell away from Corellia, or escapes from Coruscant any time Adi discovers her parents are coming to sit in the Senate.

Siri takes a hot shower, stretching out in the gigantic space to keep muscles from knotting up.  It takes three washes and the Force to get the broken glass out of her hair.  _Bugger it,_ Siri thinks.  _I should have gone the traditional Padawan route and cut it all off in the first place._

She wouldn’t have, even as she grumbles about it.  Siri is vain enough to want all of her hair, and it’s come in handy, besides.  She would never have met Edari if she didn’t have the looks to stand in as part of the well-coifed retinue of a diplomat’s daughter.

Siri grins and runs to Edari’s room, tapping lightly on the door.  “You decent, Lady?” she asks.

Edari opens the door.  Her hair is the only thing covering her skin.

 

*          *          *          *

 

When the invitation comes from her family to attend her older brother’s wedding, Siri thinks of Edari and decides to accept.  Perhaps it will be easier to understand family matters if she pays more attention to her own.

Her brother is a twit.  Siri has never been so glad to be a Councilor’s Padawan; it takes all of her diplomatic training not to strangle him on the first day.

Thank goodness her parents are decent people.  Siri gets to know her father and mother in a way she never really expected to.  Her mother thinks nothing of Siri’s rough-and-tumble attitude, and takes her target-shooting as stress relief.  Her father discovers that Siri already has an alcoholic sweet-tooth, and takes her on a tour of the vineyards.  They both come home just a little bit drunk, and Siri’s brother Tam stomps his feet like a _toddler_ and leaves in a snit.

“Don’t worry,” Vera, his betrothed, says.  “I’ll break him of that stupidity in short order.”

Siri _likes_ Vera.  The older girl is definitely the more sensible, straightforward, mature half of the pair.  “Why in the Force are you marrying my brother, anyway?”

“I think he will grow into a decent man, even if it seems like he’s lightyears from being one now,” Vera replies.  “And if not, I’ll make sure your parents have some heirs for the family business, and then send him off to play.  Force knows it’s in the marriage contract that we’re to have an open relationship after the kids are born.  I’d go insane, otherwise.”

It’s the first time Siri has met someone with sexual interests that approximate her own, and it’s fascinating.  Vera teaches her more about humanoid sexuality in regard to relationships, both casual and otherwise, than Siri ever learned from Temple bio.

Tam and Vera’s wedding ceremony falls on the day that open war breaks out in the Republic.  Siri gets to watch the Yinchorri Uprising unfold live on the Holonet.  Even Tam is too distracted by the Golden Nyss shipyard’s destruction to sulk about the loss of attention. 

Honestly, once the results are in, the bodies counted, and the treaties signed, Siri’s not certain if she’s glad she chose the wedding over the war or not.  Possibly it’s for the best; Adi says she’s too inclined to violence as it is.  It’s not that Siri seeks out fights, or thinks violence is the best answer.  She just seems to excel at sticking her nose where it’s not wanted, and then she’s punching things, anyway.

She doesn’t see Obi-Wan after her return to Coruscant.  Their schedules don’t match up anymore, especially since he’s on a Master’s level rotation for missions and she still has her Padawan gig.  To make up for it, she sends him long, rambling text messages, or comms him at odd hours.

“Kenobi, wake up,” she says when the signal connects.

“Nrgh.  You complete bitch.”  He sounds like several days of bad travel, but if he really didn’t want to speak to her, he wouldn’t have answered. 

“You love me,” Siri replies.  “I’m on Cestus, and I have a question.”

“You have a Master of your very own, Tachi,” Obi-Wan grumbles.  “You can’t call her?”

“Uh.”

He sighs.  “She has no idea you’re on Cestus, does she.”

“Not exactly.  The mission got a bit sidetracked.  Oh, and Master Teeg is in jail, so that doesn’t help things.”

Siri swears she can feel the face-palm across the lightyears.  “Teeg’s an idiot,” Obi-Wan says.  “I think the mission was less for you and more so the Council can point out to him how unready for a Padawan he really is.”

Siri makes a face.  “Teeg needs a Padawan like I need a sex change.”

Obi-Wan snorts out a laugh.  “Are you going to get him out of prison?”

“When I’m done finishing the mission, sure,” she says.  It’s not exactly the same mission Siri was assigned to complete with Master Teeg, but the other one was a bust, and this is a worthy cause.  “How big of an explosion can I make with the power cell in my lightsaber?”

“Depends on your fuel source,” Obi-Wan says without hesitating.  It’s what she likes about this new and improved Kenobi model—he doesn’t ask stupid questions, and assumes that Siri knows what she’s doing.  It’s refreshing, especially as most of the Masters she deals with treat her like she left the creche _yesterday_.

“I’m assuming I can’t just dump the cell into a bucket of ship’s lube and expect it to blow,” Siri guesses, thinking about her possible explosion-fuel options.

“No, you’d still need a catalyst.  Unless you’re willing to sacrifice your entire lightsaber, you need at least three elements to create your explosion,” Obi-Wan explains.  “Power cells _usually_ don’t overload without help.  What are you blowing up, anyway?”

Siri really wants to hear about those exceptions he seems to be implying, but later.  She’s got things to do.  “The Council won’t be too angry with me for destroying a privately owned factory, will they?”

He laughs.  “Get your evidence first, then blow it the hell up.  Cestus Cybernetics is fucking with the locals again, I take it?”

“Yep.  Evidence to be gathered, witness statements taken, and possibly a volunteer coming back to Coruscant with me to explain things further,” she says, feeling more optimistic about her chances.  Siri doesn’t really think she would have ultimately needed any help, but sometimes just talking things through makes her path a bit easier to see.

“Excellent.  Take care, Kiddo.”

“No doubt.  Have a good sleep, old man,” Siri replies.

“Oh, fuck you,” he retorts, but she knows he’s smiling.

“Fuck you, too,” Siri says, a huge grin on her face.

She must have covered all the salient points; when Siri gets back to Coruscant, the Council grumbles a bit about the property damage, but seems to be okay with the rest of it.  She leaves the Chamber, sighs with relief, and heads home for a well-deserved tub soak. 

That evening, Adi sits them both down at the kitchen table.  Her Master has her Serious Conversation face on.  Siri expects a lecture, and steels herself.

“You could take the Trials next year, if you wanted,” Adi says.

There are more surprising things her Master could have said, but it’s a damn short list.  “I could?” Siri asks.  She wants to be excited, but there has to be a catch.  Adi wouldn’t have just announced things in advance like this. 

“You could,” Adi confirms.  “I have no doubt that you would pass; you have always been certain of yourself, of your wants and desires and abilities.”

There _has_ to be a catch.

Adi grins.  “Yes, there’s a catch.  While you would be a legal-aged Knight, you would be on a lighter mission rotation, in deference to your young age and perceived lack of experience.”

Fuck, now she gets what Obi-Wan was bitching about.  “That sounds like a pile of _poodoo_ , Master.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Adi says.  “But we have our reasons.  When Quinlan Vos was Knighted at eighteen, we tried to give him the same mission rotations we would give to any new Knight, and damn near got him killed, instead.  The Council is not willing to repeat that mistake.”

Wow.  No wonder Vos had looked like fried mynock innards that first year.  “I could handle it,” Siri says.  She does solo missions half of the time now, anyway.

“Perhaps.  But I would request that you remain a Padawan for two more years, Siri,” Adi says.  “Train hard, and when you’re Knighted, you’ll see the kinds of missions I know you prefer.”

“Violent, sexy adventures?” Siri quips, grinning.  What the hell.  She’ll be Knighted at twenty Standard, and that’s still four or five years below average for humanoids.

Adi nods.  “Something like that, yes.”

Siri narrows her eyes.  Adi doesn’t pull the whole “Cryptic Master” bit very often.  Siri wonders what _else_ has prompted this conversation.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Turning eighteen as a Coruscant citizen is like a license to have all the sex she wants.  Siri has been sexually pent-up since Edari Gallia, something that has led to far more masturbation than she suspects is socially acceptable.  Sure, Siri could have gone after the other senior Padawans, but with Edari, Siri learned that she really prefers older lovers.  The kids her own age are still fumbling, even the ones that started early, and she prefers to sleep with people who already know what the hell they’re doing.  She is impatient with a lack of finesse, especially in the bedroom.

She sleeps with three Senate aides, because they’re close by, uninterested in relationships, and just as overworked as she is.  It’s sleeping with three young Knights in a row, two men and a Firrerreon woman, that makes Adi sit her down and give Siri a stern look.

“Please, please, _please,_ be more discreet, Padawan,” Adi says, looking like she has bitten into unripe fruit.  “I have nothing against your sex drive, and you are old enough to manage your own social life, but try not to mow through the entire Temple before you turn twenty-one.”

Siri privately thinks that if she were omnisexual, it would be an interesting goal to try and accomplish.  However, Adi is more chaste than Siri has ever managed to be, and teasing her Master has limits.  “All right.  Discretion, better part of valor, blah blah blah.  Though really, I’d have thought you’d be happy that I’m not getting attached to anyone.” 

Adi is amused.  “I think you being in love, emotive and flailing, would be much easier to deal with than this voracious appetite.”

Siri glowers at her Master, because she does not _do_ emotive flailing.  She’s leaving that for Obi-Wan, who’s got a serious, oblivious problem on his hands.

“I think we should tie Master Jinn up and leave him in Obi-Wan’s bed,” Siri suggests to Garen.

“Uh huh,” Garen says, only half-listening.  He’s tinkering on one of the Temple ships.  There are plenty of Temple mechanics who can do the work, but Muln has a thing for tools and grease.  “Provided we could actually accomplish this feat without being slaughtered, what makes you think Obi-Wan would appreciate it?”

This is the only thing that makes Siri want to grab and shake Obi-Wan, and it’s his absolute refusal to just _tell_ Jinn that he’s sodding in love with him.  “He’s being stupid.  They could have been shagging two years ago if Obi-Wan had opened his mouth and said something.”

“You’re just pissed off that you’ve been out of the betting pool for a year now,” Garen teases.

Right, fine, yes, she was way off on her estimates, but that’s because Obi-Wan is stupid and Jinn is blind.  She watches Garen reach for his drink, and then says, “Wanna go make out, Muln?”

Garen chokes on his caff.  She grins as he swears at her.  He’s attached to Reeft like a barnacle, anyway.

 

*          *          *          *

 

A Sharing does not preclude conscious recognition of what is seen and experienced.  Academically, Siri knew this, but the reality is so harsh, so unyielding on her psyche, that she wonders how anyone can be sane when it’s over.

Once, Siri asked Obi-Wan what happened to her other self, the Knight Tachi he would have known in that weird vision-life of his.  Obi-Wan had smiled and said, “You died in my arms.”

She didn’t take him seriously, because really, who says that?  It’s holovid material.  That shit does not happen in real life.

Why didn’t she take him seriously?  He never lied to her, not about any damn thing, and now Siri is in Obi-Wan’s thoughts, sharing his memories, watching herself die a slow, agonizing, _avoidable_ death.

It’s awkward and gut-wrenching and horrible and above all, embarrassing.  She wonders how Master Jinn feels, since he had to watch the same thing happen to himself.

Siri thinks that it can’t get any worse, and then it does.  The first wave of the Purges makes her feel like her mind has been scraped raw.  Obi-Wan lived through this—Obi-Wan _survived_ this—and she has no fucking idea _how._   Siri feels like she’s going to die of it, and it’s just a memory, just a damn phantom from a past that has been unmade.

This is what Obi-Wan lives with, all the time, and Siri thinks now that it’s no wonder he’s touched in the head. 

She never pried for details about his nightmares, though Garen told her about the mental block that the Healers were trying to crack open.  It’s only after those other versions of Master Windu and Master Yoda block out the existence of Venge that Siri gets it, and it makes her feel sick.

Force ghosts make it bearable.  Master Jinn makes an excellent quirky spirit; the feel of Obi-Wan’s love for Jinn, burning still in spite of the decades and several layers of reality that separate them—that helps, too.

Damn, Muln is still hot.

Damn!  Siri is going to be masturbating in the shower for the next few weeks, thank you very much!

It ends as abruptly as it began.  Siri opens her eyes in high orbit with a terrified astromech droid warbling at her to wake the fuck up.  Thank the gods for droids, and for the auto-pilot, which kept her from bashing into battle debris. 

She’s been force-fed forty years of life in two minutes.  It’s the worst damn hangover she’s ever had. 

Siri lets the droid land the ship, gives it an absent thank-you, and goes to find someone who can share her pain.

Garen is being treated by one of the medical droids.  His hair is still frizzed out from Palpatine’s lightning.  “Hey,” he says upon seeing her, managing a tired smile.  “You all right, Tachi?”

“No,” Siri retorts, and starts to cry.

Dammit.  She _hates_ crying.

Abella tells Siri that Obi-Wan almost died—again—when the Sharing was done with.  Siri looks down at those too-pale features and wants to kiss him, shake him, and slap him, all at once.

It’s one of the Healer twins, Su’um-Va, who explains to her why he seems to be dreaming all the time.  Siri knows Abella and Terza have sedated him to the point where Obi-Wan’s head might as well be a seed gourd, and still he is restless. 

Granted, she has to hunt down Su’um-Va to get her explanation, but never mind that.  She’s damn good at getting people to talk to her, whether they like it or not.

“It’s re-integration,” Su’um-Va explains when she plies him with food and ale.  He wolfs down the sandwich like a man who has forgotten to eat; given that he is helping to treat Naboo’s teeming masses of injured citizenry, Siri can forgive that bit of foolishness.  “The brain isn’t used to having access to those memories, so the neurological pathways that lead to them are either stagnant or missing.  Obi-Wan’s mind is, essentially, re-playing those new memories over and over again to strengthen those pathways.”

Siri stares at him in abject horror.  Then she steals his ale and drinks the bottle down.  “If you knew what we’d seen, you wouldn’t be so fucking cavalier about it,” she whispers, furious.

Su’um-Va seems to be used to dealing with people who swear at him.  He only shakes his head.  “Given what I have been told by those of you who were involved in this Sharing, I am grateful that I did not see it.  To reassure you: it is highly unlikely that Obi-Wan will remember these cycles of repetition.”

“The wonders of good drugs?” Siri asks, trying for a lighthearted smile.  It’s not the best attempt.

“In this case, yes,” Su’um-Va says, nodding.  “If it soothes you, those new memories are not all that is causing this agitated state.  A Sharing is a mentally involved effort, and it stimulates the hell out of the brain.  Knight Kenobi would be restless even if this had been a normal Sharing.”

Siri gives him a disbelieving look.  She’s not certain there’s any such thing as a “normal” Sharing.

A lot happens on Naboo over the next few weeks, but somehow, Siri winds up spending most of her spare time with the willow-thin Healer.  He’s tall, like Jinn, but without the natural ability to glower things into submission.  Su’um-Va is quiet, graceful, humble company, especially when compared to his sister.  His skin is pale next to Ra’um-Ve’s dark indigo cast, and he has long, nimble fingers that Siri finds herself watching with increasing levels of interest.

It’s not even sexual interest, not at first.  Then comes the day when he releases his black hair from its confines, letting it fall to his shoulders in a sleek wave.  Siri starts, stares, and suddenly wants to jump Healer Su’um-Va’s bones in the worst fucking way.

He blushes dark violet; his gray eyes are startled when he jerks his head around to stare at Siri.  “You’d like to what?” he squeaks.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Siri has never actually dated anyone before.  It’s _weird._   Plus, there are all kinds of things she suddenly has to learn to navigate, since she doesn’t want to give up on sex with other people.  (She’d miss girls too much; she likes having more breasts around than just her own.) 

Turns out that Su’um-Va has _always_ had dedicated relationships.  Pansexuality, polyamory, open relationships within marriages—these are all completely foreign ideas for him.  So instead of taking his hand and dragging him into her bed, damn the consequences and save the questions for later, Siri educates him.  She even keeps her clothes on to do it.

“I guess it would be the best sort of thing,” Su’um-Va is musing, towards the end of her time on Naboo.  She can feel that the remaining Jedi will depart soon, and Siri wants to have all of this relationship stuff worked out before they’re separated by work and lightyears. 

“Oh?”  She keeps her tone light, but is secretly ecstatic.

“I am insanely busy, which is one of the reasons my relationships have been short-lived,” Su’um-Va admits.  “I’m just not capable of offering a mate much of my time, not without giving up on my life’s work.”

“And I want you to do that about as much as I want to give up on my Knighthood, which is not at all,” Siri says.  “You’re not the only one who’s going to be busy, Su.”

“Sue?” he repeats, grinning.  “What the hell, Siri?  You can’t call me that!”

“Then what can I call you?  I’m not into calling people Honey or Dear, but screaming out Su’um-Va during sex would be awkward.”

He blushes.  She’s been making him blush for three weeks now, and it’s still adorable.  “My short name is Suva.”

“Suh-vah.” Siri repeats.  Two syllables, easier on the tongue.  Kind of a sexy mouthful.

“Less awkward?” Su’um-Va asks, giving her a curious look.

“Oh, yeah,” she agrees, and hops into his lap for an extended make-out session.

Su’um-Va talks her into a year’s courtship.  Before the Sharing, Siri would have balked, thinking it a ridiculous amount of time.  Now, though, she knows how it feels to wait.  A year is not so bad, and when that year is up she’s going to fuck Suva into the floor to show him how much she’s into this relationship thing.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Their one-year agreement terminates during the Kaazcint Harvest Festival.  It’s hasn’t actually been a year, yet, but that’s Suva’s fault for not specifying which calendar they should use.  It’s been a Gre’talk year.  Close enough.

She makes sure Suva can’t walk straight for the entire week.

He asks if there was anyone else during the year.  She tells him that of course there was.  She is patient, not dead.

Su’um-Va still seems baffled by her ability to love him and sleep with others, so she opens her shields and shows him what is in her heart.  She has never done this for another living soul.  Not even her Master has been allowed to see all that Siri is.

She teases him mercilessly when he weeps like a girl.  She really is a complete bitch.

Fortunately, Suva doesn’t seem to mind.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Siri comes home from another solo mission to find Adi waiting for her, with another woman that Siri doesn’t know.  She is introduced to Boda MonMassa—the Master of Shadows.

“Shit,” Siri says, eyes widening.  “I thought you guys were just myths.”

“Most myths contain grains of truth,” MonMassa says.  The older Master is studying Siri in a way that makes her suspicious.

“So you’re actually Sith hunters, then?” Siri asks.

“That and more,” MonMassa replies.  “We seek out and destroy artifacts of Darkness that could actively harm innocents who stumble across them.  We return other items to the Temple if it is felt they can be studied safely.  Sometimes, our work has included altercations with Darkened Jedi or talented, self-taught dabblers.”

Siri makes a face.  “You suck at your job, then.  Xanatos escaped you guys for years.”

MonMassa just smiles.  “Despite his dramatic ways, Xanatos of Telos was far more skilled at evasion than anyone suspected.”

“Also,” Adi put in, joining the conversation for the first time, “Xanatos actually did very little to harm the Jedi, and did nothing warranting Shadow intervention until the last six months of his life.”

“And then Jinn got to him first,” MonMassa says dryly.

“But he was a criminal!” Siri protests.  Yeah, she’s seen Nice Xan during the Sharing, but they are talking about pre-dead Xanatos right now. 

“Perhaps, but he was also a recognized ruling figure in the Republic.  No action could be taken against him by the Order until the Republic authorized it, and most of the evidence of his activities was acquired post-mortem.”  Adi looks sad as she says this; Siri feels guilty, remembering that her Master, Xanatos, and Master Windu grew up together.

“So you’re saying that life as a Shadow is complicated,” Siri says to MonMassa.

MonMassa nods.  “It is, and for more reasons than it seems.  It has been a long time since the Shadows have had to concern ourselves with anything worse than minor antics, as exampled by Xanatos.  We are…unused to dealing with actual Sith.  Now that one is here, our numbers are few.”

Siri leans back in her chair, considering the Shadow Master’s words.  “You’re recruiting.”

“In a very selective manner, yes,” MonMassa confirms.  She has a shrewd gaze, and there is a hint of a smile on her face.  “Your Master is offering you a choice.”

Siri looks to Adi.  “Choice?”

“Take the Trials, the traditional ones,” Adi says, her expression guarded and neutral.  “When you succeed, you will be granted those things I once told you of.  Or, you may choose the less traditional path, and become a Shadow.  The Trials of a Shadow are harsher things, and though I have great faith in your abilities, Padawan, you may not succeed.”

“If I fail, do I still have the option of being a plain old regular Knight, or do I have to commit ritual suicide or something?”  She’s only half-joking.

“ _If_ you fail, you would still have the option to complete the standard Knighthood Trials.  Granted, failing the Trial of Shadow may mean you’re too dead to continue on the path to Knighthood,” MonMassa says.  “I do not think you will fail.”

The vote of confidence is nice.  The worried look on her Master’s face—not so much.

It’s not much of a choice, anyway.  Being a Shadow sounds like the kind of thing Siri excels at.  “I’m in,” she says.

It’s only when her voice squeaks that Siri realizes she’s having a little bit of a panic attack.  She’s going to be taking her Trials, _and_ she just volunteered to become a Sith-hunter.

She’s got to be _crazy._

*          *          *          *

 

Siri arrives five minutes early at her appointed destination, her heart stuck somewhere in her throat.  The only thing she knows about what lies ahead of her is the note she received from Master MonMassa that morning.  It listed the room’s location, a time, and said only, _Part One._

It made her swear when she read it.  No one ever said that this would be a multiple course torture fest!

With one minute to spare, Siri opens the door and enters.  She can feel the faint buzz that means heavy shielding.  The room is small, well-lit, and looks otherwise normal.  There are two metal chairs parked next to a small work-table…and Obi-Wan, standing at ease, waiting for her.

Siri isn’t certain whether this makes her feel better, or worse.  “If my goal is to defeat you in combat, I give up now,” she says.

He smiles, and that eases some of her tension.  Obi-Wan is way too damn good at stoic Councilor, and she likes Real, Old-Man Kenobi much better.  “No.  Master MonMassa is realistic, not foolish.”

“Are you being recruited, too?” Siri asks, curious.

He makes a face.  “I was not recruited so much as summarily adopted.  Given what the Shadows do, it’s hard for me to protest.”

That makes her grin.  This isn’t going to be all that bad.  Difficult, maybe, but not stomach-churning awful.  “I can’t be a Shadow, I’m busy chasing a Sith Lord, right?”

He nods.  “I am, apparently, not the only one.”

“Then let’s get this over with,” Siri says, and sits down at the table when he gestures.  He sits opposite her, and waves his hand.

Two silver containment boxes shimmer into existence.  She wants to lean back away from the table, but doesn’t, because she’s been a good field agent since she was sixteen.  “You hid them?”

“Yes.  It’s easier to hide physical objects from sight.  People are trickier, because they move and make noise that a stationary object will not,” he explains.

Huh.  Cool.  When it boils right down to it, sleight-of-hand is still sleight-of-hand, even if the Force is involved.  “Is there a way to see something that’s been hidden?”

Obi-Wan smiles.  “We’re working on it.  Here is the task that has been presented to you, Padawan Tachi,” he says, and she sits up straighter at the formal address.  “In each of these two boxes, you will find a Sith Holocron.”

Her eyebrows rise before she can help it.  She’s never even been in the vaults before.

“One of them is real.  The other is a fake, taken from those that have been stored in the Archives,” Obi-Wan tells her.

“Wait.  When did we get a _real_ Sith Holocron?”  Siri knows that the Archive collection was stocked with fakes, but nobody has mentioned anything about recovering a real one.

“Master MonMassa’s Third went through a great deal of effort to acquire it from Sidious’s collection,” Obi-Wan says, the stoic mask back in place.

Shit.  Siri swallows.  “We were that close?”

“Only the once, so far,” Obi-Wan confirms.  “Her Third knew he was outmatched, and chose to escape with the Holocron rather than face certain death at Sidious’s hands.”

“Heh.  Pun,” Siri says, though she doesn’t think it’s funny at all.  She’s a realist, like MonMassa.  “Will the Third live?”

“The Healers think so,” Obi-Wan says.  He has just deliberately given Siri a means to discern who this mysterious Third is.  She wonders why.

“In the meantime, your challenge,” Obi-Wan continues.  “Discern the real Holocron from the fake.”

“ _Fuck_ me,” Siri blurts.  “You want me to do what the Archivists couldn’t?”

He’s smiling again.  “The Archivists never knew that they had collected fakes, and had no reason to wonder.  Your advantages are thus:  You know that one is fake, and one is real.  And no, it’s not a trick; that is a fact.  You have seen what a real Holocron is like through the Sharing.  You may study any resource you wish, but if your resource is a person, you cannot tell them why you’re seeking such information.  If you use a terminal, erase your tracks.  If you study in the Library, do not be seen.  If you want to look at the Jedi Holocrons in the vaults, you’re going to have to get permission from someone other than myself.  Or break in,” he adds.

 _No one can break into the vaults,_ Siri wants to retort, but doesn’t.  If he’s mentioned it, that means it’s possible.

“In short, act like a Shadow,” Siri says, and Obi-Wan nods again.  “Time limit?”  She might not be in danger of dying for this part of her Trials, but it sure as hell doesn’t sound easy.

“No time limit.  You don’t even have to remain here,” Obi-Wan tells her, which is another surprise.  “A guard will be posted on the door at all times.  You are free to come and go, but bring no one else into this room with you.  Once I leave, anyone other than yourself who tries to enter this room will be in for a very unpleasant, lethal surprise.”

Siri takes a deep breath, lets it out, and nods.  “All right.  And when I know?”  It’s better to say “when” instead of “if.”  Maybe the verbal confidence will help.

“Tell me, if I’m in the Temple.  Tell MonMassa, if I’m not.  You must do so in person.  We don’t want comm threads all over the Temple blithering about Sith artifacts that aren’t in the Library,” Obi-Wan says, a hint of the old smirk on his face. 

“All right.  What’s my _real_ time limit?” Siri asks.

Yep, definitely a smirk.  “MonMassa has bullied me into teaching a class to a select group of Shadows.  To join this class, you must have finished this task.  You have three months, more or less.”

She’s still impish enough to ask, “Can _you_ do it?”

His amusement fades.  “Who do you think confirmed that MonMassa’s Third had brought back the real thing?”

“Right,” Siri says, and feels like a moron.

 

*          *          *          *

 

It doesn’t take Siri three months to figure out the difference between the holocrons.

She does it in three weeks.

 


End file.
